


P0rnfest, translated

by manubibi



Category: Free!, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot Collection, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Translation, bottom!viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manubibi/pseuds/manubibi
Summary: A bunch of fics I'm writing for an Italian fic fest. Here I'll post the translations. Prompts and fills:1. FREE!, Nagisa Hazuki/Sousuke Yamazaki, hooker!AU2. YURI!!! ON ICE, Michele Crispino/Sara Crispino, running around among the vines3. YURI!!! ON ICE, Viktor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, Yuuri asks Viktor to touch himself for him4. YURI!!! ON ICE, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, 'don't stop'5. FREE!, Haruka Nanase/Rin Matsuoka, eager face-fucking6. YURI!!! ON ICE, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, running away at night with the motorbike





	1. SouGisa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilana_9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilana_9/gifts).



> I'm translating these for Ilana_9, mostly, but also to share some works for the [p0rnfest](http://fanficitalia.altervista.org/p0rnfest10/) with everyone else! Originally they're in Italian, because this fest requires them to be. Hope you enjoy them and hopefully the translations will sound good! ^^ I will be posting each of them as soon as I've written and translated them, and I hope I'll write a lot!

"I forgot to tell you: merry Christmas, Nagisa."  
It's been a while, since Nagisa last celebrated Christmas with someone. Since he left Iwatobi, with the intention of studying History at university and becoming an archaeologist, the tide turned and flipped him on his head, threw his strokes off, swept his small frame away dragging him to the open sea, away from the land, floating to the deepest patches where he could not touch or see the bottom.  
It's been a while, since quietly the last of his friends left, because of work business, studying, relationships, stress. The trap about high school is that one'll believe it, when they step out of school for the last time, turn around and say "we'll be friends forever".  
But in the end, who would want to spend time with someone who couldn't do it, who let himself get dragged to the bottom of a vortex to make some money, spinning among warm bodies and money on the bedside table, among pints of beer and dirt and insults hissed through the teeth, until somehow he found himself sharing slow and melancholic whorls of smoke in the night of a winter's Christmas, on a small hotel's balcony?  
When he puffs a bitter laughter out, his breath whitens in the air, and with his magenta eyes he follows it dissipate before closing them, and then he sucks in a hot toxic breath from the filter stuck between his lips before throwing a glance at Sousuke, with a calm expression illuminated by the soft neons of a neon sign board on the opposite building.  
"You too," he replies, low, to not make this Christmas' hallucination disappear: it was hard, believing that Sousuke had nothing better to do than keep company to the friend of someone who maybe, once, was a friend. A hooker, to boot.  
The long silence that binds them together is only disrupted by cars passing by, honks, the dim pulses of some bar, chatters of people meeting and wishing each other merry Christmas, and moans from occupants of the hotel's other rooms. Whether it's good or bad, the hotel where they usually meet is relegated to a suburban neighborhood, away from the arcades, big clubs, from the path of whoever is out taking a stroll before going back to the routine, to their usual old selves.  
Often Nagisa will go out too, on holidays, to suck moments of light from those surrounding him, to cover with the sound of fireworks the words of his father when he said, 'I do not recognize you.' To pretend the people he doesn't know could surround him and lend him some warmth and make him believe he could try to start again, first off with himself.  
This evening though he kept the bed warm, wrapping some man or some woman around himself, letting them devour him as usual, letting with a cheeky smile that they'd make him into a doll or a game. But there was enough sanity, in him, to want someone a bit more important next to him for Christmas. He's not _that_ pathetic yet. So this is how he called Sousuke - a client, a friend, someone reassuring. Because behind his grumpy silence and his rough manners, behind his frowns there's always a yes. And that is enough.  
For once, it's Sousuke breaking the silence that was wrapping itself around too tight, uncomfortable, around them.  
"Nagisa, let's go inside."

The other lingers on the parapet for a few seconds, sighing, before turning his head to give him a smile, one of the old ones, one like he always used to have inside, once. Sousuke did not forget them, despite them being only a detail from years where his best memories were on someone else's face.  
Nagisa shivers slightly, as if he actually felt cold, but shakes his head taking another long puff from his sigarette, inspires it till the end, until the fire reaches the filter. Only then he turns it off, cocks his head, and finally pushes the parapet away from him, to turn around and stretch his arms up, around Sousuke's neck, and takes advantage of the other's surprise to pull him closer and finally connect their lips with an elusive, tired smile.  
It's not the first time they kiss, it's not the first time Nagisa pushes himself into Sousuke's arms. It's not the first time Sousuke reacts immediately, sliding his hands down Nagisa's back, his sides, and then grabbing his ass to push him closer. Exactly because it's not the first time, Sousuke knows what to do: following Nagisa's lead, following his wishes and letting him crawl on top of himself when Sousuke is lying on the bed, and then exchanging rough, hasty kisses, letting himself get stripped naked with a certain anger that he can taste in Nagisa's mouth.  
It's better than asking, than offering advice, better than forcing Nagisa's heart open because the more he tried, in the past, the more Nagisa would curl up like a hedgehog around his sadness, as if to protect it.  
Thus he knows that in evenings such as these, when everyone else surrounds themselves with people to bury their loneliness, Nagisa does not need many words. If that was the case, he'd be the one to chatter all his words away. When he does not speak, when he throws himself onto Sousuke's lips, there's no need for confessions. They're something too much, maybe they're even the worst.  
Nagisa does say something, few things, lowly.  
"Sou-chan, lube and rubbers are in the drawer." "Sou-chan, give me everything you have."  
"Sou-chan, Sou-chan, choke me."  
Nagisa's eyes fall shut, lying on his back with his head on the pillow, his legs spread and his short nails scratching Sousuke's back with want.  
With his thumb pressing down Nagisa's neck veins, Sousuke looks down at him, while thrusting inside, forcing his thighs further apart to sink into his tight insides, hot, clenching around him with each thrust. He does not speak either; both of them don't, they shut one another up with their hard lips pressed together - they have names to hide and if they called them it would be like playing a whole bar wrong in an opera melody.  
Nagisa knows who Sousuke would really want. Sousuke knows well who Nagisa's lost. He pushes his thumbs deeper until Nagisa opens his eyes rattling, his hands curling around Sousuke's, but his eyes are void of fear. He clenches his fingers around Sousuke's wrists, in a feeble attempt at making him let go and then lets him go on, closes his eyes, and Sousuke observes his blond crown on the pillow before letting go.  
It all seems so surreal - he should be at Rin's, now. Drinking, looking at him, drinking his sight in, searching for his hand like a stupid kid, without ever really grabbing it. He can't do it, he never will make it, and he probably does it on purpose when he sees Rin often. To feel his heart clench, his blood rushing, for his shoulder's pain and because he did _not_ waste years of his life running after him.  
But when he brushes his hand along Nagisa's chest and stomach, when he grabs his cock, tortures it and holds him in his own hand and makes him arch on the mattress with fast piling up pleasure, when he looks at Nagisa's face when he comes - parted lips, his cheeks flushing, his eyes drooping and glimmering, lost who knows where - he remembers why he accepted to be with Nagisa here, tonight. He seemed to need it, burn his thoughts for a moment and have something rush in his veins, he seemed to need someone who'll simply just stay and keep him some company. Nagisa never said it, but it's not hard to figure that out, from the way he seems to deflate after hours of metallic laughter and jokes forced into conversations, and from the way his fingers seek for Sousuke's, shy, asking softly for something he knows he can't demand nor have. 

"Do you wanna come and spend the night at my place?" Nagisa asks anyway, looking at Sousuke dress back up, while quietly doing the same. Sousuke doesn't even think about it.  
"Okay," he replies, blushing a little despite everything.  
He knows he replied correctly, but when he spots a tiny smile on Nagisa's lips, he does not even notice his own muscles relax and his movements slow down while his heart calms down.  
And then he listens to himself when Nagisa leads him to his bed by the hand, in his flat filled with absurd colors, while still shivering for the cold outside. His heart beats quiet, maybe stutters slightly when his eyes follow the shape of Nagisa's waist and nape, but then it warms up again once he feels Nagisa curled up against his chest, as if he was a child. He slides into his new habit of petting Nagisa's hair after turning the light off, while listening to the hum of the city outside of the window. He sighs: it can't go on like this, they can't just go on trying to comfort each other and licking each other's wounds, there has to be something more.  
But Nagisa smiles on his chest, with his arms wrapped tight tight around Sousuke's body, and their breaths run around soft and tired.  
In the middle of his chest, warmth spreads and Sousuke makes sure Nagisa fell asleep, before leaving a kiss on his fluffy hair.


	2. Crispinocest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. YURI!!! ON ICE, Michele Crispino/Sara Crispino, running around among the vines  
> Warning for incest. INCEST. SIBLINGS INCEST. This was a warning. If you don't like it, there's a button up there to close the tab. Thanks.

"Michi..."  
Sara smells of a light veil of sweat, and grape juice that soaked the cellar where their uncles pressed the bunches of grape they'd gathered. His face got stained with sweet crimson spots, and his jeans dirtied with green grass when she fell on it, while his hair feel fuzzy with this hot, dry summer. They're filled with dust and blades of grass, they're dirty with the arid ground under them, where insects run in a frenzy to escape.   
Their aunt caught them dipping their fingers in the mix of peelings and juice that formed a delicious, light foam on top, so like two kids they ran among the naked vines, escaping some serious yelling with their hands connected, and panting from the hot weather.   
And then Michele pinched her arm, he doesn't even know why. Maybe because sara's skin is still so soft, and from her tank top's shoulder strap downwards her arm was all naked, free to tease. But Sara is never afraid, never holds back, she screeched with the sudden pain and the surprise, but then it only took her a vicious glare to make him rush away from here.   
Because if Michele knows how to hurt her, she always know how to give it back tenfold. And while she hunts him down through the fields that seemed limitless when they were kids, Michele stops in front of the metal netting that separates their uncles' property from the one belonging to the family next to theirs. Of course, they skipped that limit multiple times, but they stopped when Sara hurt herself jumping down from it as a child, gaining a torn out arm from one of the spikes on top, and almost risking to lose a month of training.

So the hunting stopped, and to not feel trapped Michele turned around, only to tackle his sister and send her to the ground in the middle of all the yellow and green tall grass at the end of the vines.   
"Michi, get off or I'm gonna beat you up," she whispers, with a soft blush that spreads down her neck when she hears herself pant with her waist rolling against Michele's, for no reason, even though she does know how wrong it is. He taught her those feelings. Not because they wanted, nor for rebellion or because of loneliness. It simply happened, way too often, to find themselves sitting one next to the other, that Sara's hand would somehow end up on Michele's thigh, and then that she would start rubbing it on and on, slowly making its way up until he would stop her. But he never rejected her.   
And it also happened that Michele would steal a kiss from her, not even knowing what it meant, pretending it was a goofy accident, only to drop his pretenses and grab her by the waist, kiss her without thinking of anything until their chapped lips ached. And they never really thought about it much (they avoided to) but they know these things are not normal. They know these things would never, ever be tolerated by anyone else. For this reason it became a secret, something to whisper about while holding hands, something to do in the dark at night, knowing however that all it would take would be a firm rejection once to end it all. They just never took that step.

And once again Sara does not push him away, now that she feels him swell on top of her and press into her, now that she meekly spreads her legs while Michele frots into her and pants already out of control, with his face diving through her dark fizzy hair that smell of soil and grapes.   
"Michi. Wait..."  
But her hands claw at his shirt, pull him closer, and the moment she wraps her arms around him pushing her waist against his, Michele growls softly, rubbing into her with more urgency, his erection trapped in his shorts with a bulge that swells more and more, that grows with the friction of their sexes and grows hot, impatient.   
"Sara... I love you, you're my life," Michele sighs, with his voice trembling in abandon. He rubs down with his whole body, almost violently, against the space left open between Sara's thighs, and he leaves the lightest, most delicate kiss on her neck, and another, and another until he meets the edge of her pink, dirty tight tank top she's wearing. 

Sara is the youngest, Sara does not know a world without Michele in it. Sara knows it well, that none of this can lead to anything good. Maybe she's the only one who's truly aware of it, or maybe she's the only one who's willing to think ahead and realize just how much this morbid thing between them could really hurt them. Or maybe she can really pierce through him, and he can't, never could, never will because in the end he was always the one protecting her against the world, against the pain.   
And now, even while excitement stirs in her body and the smell of sweat thickens, she can't look at him without seeing the end. Sometime, somewhere in the future, and it'll probably be better to end it sooner than later, before _it_ swallows them and ruins them. Even when it tastes so sweet, there is always a bitter aftertaste lingering, just like when she sips on their uncles' wine. 

But now she clenches her thighs around Michele's waist, with her orgasm spilling wet and hot in her panties while he thrusts harder a few times, faster, erratic, and she holds him close relishing in the sound of their breaths rushing out wildly in the midst of cicadas singing. Michele whispers her name and 'I love you', over, and over, and over again with his hand slithering under her top and feeling her small breasts until his voice trembles and breaks with some moans of pleasure, muffled by his lips on the soft, warm skin of her neck.   
And then they stay there for a while, like that, lying in the grass, panting and rubbing lightly against one another some more but slow, silently, while Michele's mind floats in a fleeting peaceful silence, and Sara's drowns already, feeling the bitter taste on her mouth from having to send him off, sooner or later.   
"Michi, let's go upstairs. It's late," she finally hums after some time, looking up to the sky that's slowly turning darker on top of them, and the breeze becomes gradually colder.   
"But my pants are dirty," he replies, muttering, but lifts his face from her breasts and looks up at her with a cheeky little smile.   
"We'll tell aunt that you pissed your pants," she retorts, standing up and patting some dust away from her own.   
"Wait, oh, fuck no!" He screeches, red in the face with shame and jumping on his feet.   
"Well, you find some other way to explain that, I wasn't the one who started it," she responds, pointing at the disgraceful spot on his shorts. And then she throws a glance at him - a spiteful, yet amused one.   
Michele drops his mouth open, blushes even more, and then his face scrunches up with the effort and anxiety crawling up his throat.   
Well, he could just act as if nothing was out of place, with his uncles, with Sara, with himself. It could go on like this, a little bit longer, just a little while, he thinks looking at his sister's back while they slowly walk back to the old house, following the pleasant scent of dinner in the air. 

 


	3. Viktuuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. YURI!!! ON ICE, Viktor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki, Yuuri asks Viktor to touch himself for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I finally had something to write with them. I wanted to fit in there some headcanons I have, but I'm tired and they would make the ficlet too long to write in one go so I let those ideas aside. Oh well, whatever.

As something that was requested of him, it's quite unusual. It's unusual coming from Yuuri, anyway.  
"Viktor, I want... I want to see how you do it."  
And Viktor stared at him, with a bit of a surprised air, but right after his expression lit up with an almost childish excitement, except it was over him getting asked to masturbate.  
So while his fingers slid up and down his sex upright between his inner thighs - after he accepted to wear a yukata 'because I have good memories about that' - he sort of expected to see his fiancé blush, stutter, or anyway show a sign of discomfort or embarrassment. Instead his eyes are fixed on Viktor's body, with a predator's hungry light, and if there's some pink on his cheeks it's desire, more than bashfulness.   
Viktor does not know exactly what place that request comes from. Maybe Yuuri just wanted to provoke him, or was simply flustered and that was a way like another to start things off, but whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. It's rally not relevant, and he doesn't even stop to think about it, Viktor, as he rolls his waist slightly to meet his own hand's strokes, with frustration - that contact alone is not and cannot be enough. Not when he's got the real thing right in front of him.   
"Yuuri..." he whines, with a mincing pout, and his voice purrs softly, his eyelids droop lightly while looking at him - Yuuri, who's sitting on the bed just a few inches in front of him.   
"I want to look at you a little bit longer," he replies, observing the way the line of Viktor's neck bends sweetly, the way that pink on his cheeks highlights the lightness of his skin, and the ruffled silver hair on the top of his head.   
"Nooo... you're so mean, Yuuri," Viktor complains, lightly, and looks leering at the other male with a little smirk before shaking his hair and biting his lip in the best imitation of himself in some dream Yuuri might have had as a boy. "Then I'll cum without you."  
"Wait," Yuuri says, immediately, losing the focused air for a moment while crawling on top of Viktor, but then dips his dark eyes into the older's light blue, celestial ones. Viktor immediately smirks, and just to wrap his legs around Yuuri's waist he loses his balance, lying defenseless now, but holds him tight while he keeps sliding his hand along his length, slow, with excitement that piles up and stirs as he looks into Yuuri's eyes without hesitating, with such intensity Yuuri could fall right into his hues. And Yuuri looks at him back, now swallowing with a bit of embarrassment but especially excitement, that seems to gather in him as well, that stretches and swells all at once, and now it's hot everywhere, like the heating had turned on suddenly and all around him. 

"I got you," Viktor hums, with a soft and warm voice, a loving voice, and his eyes tender, his body losing its tension and looking inviting now.   
"Can I touch you?" Yuuri asks, but without waiting for an answer he wraps his fingers around Viktor's hand, looks at them move as if they weren't his own, observes the way Viktor's hips move now, the way his body follows a pace he's not setting for himself anymore, the way a bead shines on top of his tense, pulsing cock.   
"Mm, Yuuri..." Viktor moans, his voice low, and then finally he pulls Yuuri's face closer, and he tightens his legs around him. With a thumb he traces the shape of Yuuri's cheek, before kissing him with a sweetness he barely knew about himself, before Yuuri Katsuki once basically dry humped him in the middle of a crowded room and blabbered about wanting Viktor as his coach. "You can do whatever you want," he adds, winking with a suggestive smile. Not that there's any need for it, anyway.  
Because Yuuri had decided way before that he would lose all his restraints - when he touched Viktor's warm flesh - but now he launches himself forward, welcomed by Viktor's open arms and legs, with his mouth pressing down onto the other's and his heart beating overwhelmed with excitement; because _God_ , he loves it when Viktor teases him, he loves Viktor, he loves settling between his legs and the exclusive sight he has from there. He loves the adoring look Viktor only has for him. He disproportionately likes looking down at him, and think: ' _mine_ '.   
Viktor says nothing, which would seem unusual, but it's probably just because Yuuri won't stop kissing him a second - he only gives him rest to stretch towards the bedside table and grab some lube and a condom, with Viktor's legs still wrapped tight around him, without ever letting him go.  
The only moment when he feels him relaxing is when Yuuri sinks in him, with his hands holding Viktor's, pushing into him powerful, into Viktor's warm body to look for more heat, to go deeper inside, to reach a place where he might feel satisfied. And Viktor unravels for him, he always will, without any reservation.   
The bed squeaks with each thrust, and that's the only noise there is to hear other than their own breaths that turn heavy, become moans, and then fall silent when the two men reach their respective orgasms that leaves them paralyzed for a moment. And then Yuuri just collapses on top of Viktor, without warning.   
"Ow!! Yuuri, at least give me a sign before you throw your fat on me!" The other protests, frowning, with a pained wheeze.   
Yuuri says nothing back. He just settles bette on top of Viktor, already yawning.  
"And... gone," Viktor mutters, after a few minutes of petting his head, and looks at him sleeping calm on Viktor's chest. From his lips comes out a light sigh, in disbelief of how one person could influence him so much, in so little time, enough to change his life - now that he has no doubts left about what to do with it, now that he sees no crossroads in front of him anymore, just a straight path ahead. 


	4. OtaYuri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. YURI!!! ON ICE, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, 'don't stop'

Otabek is not one to speak much. More than anything else, Otabek listens a lot. Otabek listens to everything. He listens with his ears, with his body, with his eyes, with his hands. With his hands he holds Yuri's sides, keeps him balanced on top of himself, with his eyes he looks at him, with his ears he listens to all the sounds the other makes. Otabek listens with all he has. And what Yuri is telling him, with his broken moans and his waist pushing back to be fucked hard, violently even - what Otabek gets from the desperation in Yuri's movements makes his heart tremble in his chest.  
Yuri speaks of loneliness, hardships and cold, a lot of cold, he speaks of rage overwhelming him in every instant, he speaks of bursts of life barely held back in the deepest pit of his throat, he speaks of frustration clawing at his insides and pushing and exploding, constantly. And his mouth is shut, except for moaning loud, and he does nothing but jump on Otabek's sex as if he was a spring, balancing his weigh on his partner's shoulders. Otabek indulges him, looks at him with eyes veiled with pleasure, tests the consistence of Yuri's skin; and everything Yuri's body says, he listens to it. 

Until Yuri's words seem to break. He looks down, into Otabek's eyes, with his own a bit hidden by his long blond bangs, and his whole body stops as a shaken expression appears on the Russian's marble face, like he only realized now how violent he was being while fucking himself on Otabek, who now pants with his eyes wide open in surprise, his heart beating dull and his body now burning in frustration.   
"Beka, you didn't tell me what you like–" Yuri mutters, apologetic, but Otabek stops him, with his voice vibrating slightly.   
" _Yura_. Don't stop," he murmurs, squeezing the other's butt cheeks with his fingers, and pushing Yuri down to feel him clench again around him, to _listen to him_ again.   
Yuri stares at him, with slight surprise. And then his eyes light up a bit, his lips lower and press hard on Otabek's, murmuring a small 'okay' before Yuri straightens up again and picks up Otabek's hand that was resting on his side. He kisses its back, blushing; he presses it against his own lips for a few moments, and while still kissing that big hand - its back, its palm, its fingers - without any unease he begins moving again, slowly at first, and then he lets himself go, arching while riding Otabek's body, and the other keeps silent now, with only little moans at the waves of pleasure rushing through him but, especially, Otabek smiles, listening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey isn't this the definition of pwp and also me being disgustingly sappy  
> ur welcome


	5. RinHaru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5\. FREE!, Haruka Nanase/Rin Matsuoka, bottom!Haruka, eager face-fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just sum domestic fooling around

Rin knows a few things about Haru: for example, he'd do nothing, _nothing_ without his own explicit will to do it. It's one of those things Rin learnt right away, in his first conversations: he might look like a passive pushover, but after all Rin could give himself answers to half the things he'd propose to Haru - "I only swim free". There is no asking for a favor Haru doesn't want to do for people- unless Nagisa is involved, of course, but those are rare exceptions and the result of planets aligning to influence whatever goes floating in Haru's skull. It's not the rule.  
Or, another example, Rin also knows how much of a little bitch Haru can be, when he wants to be. It's like people have treated him as someone who'd let himself get stepped on - maybe because of his neutral expression, his big blue eyes, his vaguely feminine traits (so he _must_ be weak), and especially a silence that too often is seen as submission or fear to talk. So it's like as a reaction he matured into a thick, strong tree living a hundred years, with roots sinking deep into the ground and big branches that not even tornadoes will bother; it's like he made of his silence a source of inner strength and an armor against which anything will bounce. Or at least, it tries to shield him from damage. Sometimes it's also a thick and warm blanket that he wraps around the people he loves to soothe them, to give them peace, but not now.  
Now his silence, only covered by wet sounds and muffled groans, is teasing. Even though the idea was his own, when he grabbed Rin's hand while they were lying around on the sofa, and started suckling on his finger while staring at the tv, when he slid quietly down Rin's body showing a spontaneous will to venture that, in other circumstances, would have left Rin surprised. But in the moment when Haru unzipped his jeans, there was no space left for surprise in Rin's head, there was only a red pulsation and heat that boiled just like that, appearing out of the blue somewhere in his bowels - it tore a moan from his lips.   
And Haru's silence teased him further, when he brought Rin's hand on his own head, and the other too, and then stared up with his ice cold eyes into Rin's as if he was giving him an order with clear, silken words. 

There's to say that Rin is absolutely not a pushover either, he's not an easy one to push into doing anything. But today he gladly obeys, pushing Haruka's head towards the base of his own cock and letting out coarse sounds, scratching up his throat and escaping his own usual discipline - only Haru can do that, destroy every form of control Rin might have imposed on himself. Only Haru, with such gelid eyes that Rin's eternal instinct will always be to try and make them melt. Only Haruka, with his mouth and throat open, swallowing him up, clenching around him, teasing him, until Rin's fingers claw at his black hair and push his head down rougher, again and again, and Haru keeps staring at him even when Rin's pubes tickle his nose - this time with a particular spark in his blue eyes and his voice trembling in little moans around Rin. It appears his eyes laugh, silently while his fingers work around his own sex, and they never leave Rin's face as it twists in excitement and pleasure; a pleasure that mounts fast, unstoppable, that darts up his spine and takes over his brain when he comes. And Haru's eyes fall shut slowly, like those of a cat at ease, letting his mouth get filled and nosing at the skin, the sweat, with a small satisfied moan while he quietly comes too.   
He stays like that for a few seconds, with Rin in his mouth, inside of him, feeling him soften slowly, and then lets go of him before standing up and sailing towards the kitchen - maybe to spit or make himself some mackerel and something disgusting to go with it. 

Instead, Rin just lays there, worn out, panting and staring at the ceiling for a while, but his silence gets interrupted by a mutter from the kitchen - loud enough for him to hear.  
"Anyway you taste awful, Rin."  
He frowns, with a red embarrassed warmth spreading on his cheeks, and then barks, "fuck off, you were the one who wanted it!"    
The silence from the other room, he knows it - it's a light one hiding a smirk, and Rin sighs shaking his head while he mutters complaints and zips up his pants.  
Rin knows a few things about Haru but most of all he knows how good he is, at pissing him off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WRITING THIS, I PARTICULARLY CARED FOR MAKING IT CLEAR THAT HARU IS A LITTLE SHIT AND HE DOES WHAT HE WANTS AND HE'S NOT A PUSHOVER AND MY SOUL CRIES EVERY TIME SOMEONE MAKES HIM ACT LIKE A GODDAMN UKE IN THE LOWEST BRANDS OF YAOI!!!   
> There, I said it. Kids, don't follow shitty yaoi stereotypes and don't twist characters to fit into that kind of shitty characterization. thanks


	6. OtaYuri & a motorbike (run away and take me with you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. YURI!!! ON ICE, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, running away at night with the motorbike

It's an hour to midnight when Otabek silently approaches Yuri, so queit that he makes him squeal surprised when he touches the younger's shoulder.   
Obviously, Viktor just had to invite as many people as possible at this New Year's Eve party in Cannes, only to saunter around the club immersed in a semidarkness only lighted by neon bracelets and leds, and show his husband off, that fat pig that almost took him away from skating even though this seems to be Yuuri's last season as well.  
Viktor will never admit to being 'old', but it's better to go with a silver in his hands and in a dignified manner, instead of falling lower and lower in competitions while watching younger and younger kids pass him easier with each month. And Yuuri needs to go as well. He's old news, he won all the titles he was looking at, and by the way it sounds like he lost interest in competing, to favor a relationship so perfect that Yuri cannot reasonably be blamed for looking at them suspiciously at this point. 

Yuri made himself hard to find, but looking properly through the dim light and the drunkards bobbing around, one could spot him all curled up in an angle, with his leopard hoodie pulled down on his forehead and an iron determination to not socialize with anyone, which seems to have formed an invisible shield around him as he scrolls through his (few) social network profiles that he was forced into joining. Which, in situations like these, is not that bad after all. At least he's got something to do in order to ignore the 'music' that pounds in his ears, to kill time, and to make as clear as possible to everyone that they'd better leave him alone and not try to interact if they want to leave the party all in one piece.   
He didn't even want to come to this fucking party, anyway, he just wanted to stay at home with _dedushka_ and eat tons of Russian salad, _manti_ and _chak chak_. But Viktor played him, he knew perfectly well how to: he said Otabek would be there. And it's been a while since him and Yuri last saw each other; after months of relegating their communications to skype calls and no possibility to touch in person, Yuri basically had no choice but hop on a plane to France. And that pissed him off, not because he had to fly halfway across the world just to see his boyfriend (which, of course, was mildly inconvenient, but obviously worth it, and sometimes he did wonder whether it would be appropriate to ask him 'hey, you and I are still together, right?'), but because of fucking Viktor. He's always so good at keeping people around when he wants, at making them do what he wants. Yuri sort of would've wanted to say no, just to make him fuck off forever, but this time too Viktor knew what button to press, and knew exactly how to play it. 

"Yura, let's go," Otabek says, after bending to speak right in his ear. If not for the shiver rolling up his spine, Yuri would be able to keep his composure while asking, "where to?" which comes out a bit hoarse. He should pretend the invisible bubble that enveloped him and kept everyone away was valid for everyone, but Otabek seems to not be influenced by that specific mood at all, ever. Because Otabek does not wait for an opening, he doesn't do small talk, he doesn't waste time with things that mean something but actually mean nothing at all - he just cuts through Yuri's barriers, but maybe he never realized they were there in the first place.   
And thank God he's not the kind of guy to be visibly delighted when his voice and mere presence melt Yuri into a small, ridiculous ball of jello.   
"I came with my motorbike. Let's go somewhere, it's too chaotic here," Otabek replies, calm, and finally Yuri tilts his face to look up at him. Otabek didn't change much, he kept his haircut (and it's morally correct to point out maybe he kept the sidecut for years just for Yuri, just because once he said he liked it), and his body became bulkier despite maintaining its elegance. Yuri let his hair grow instead, down to his back, so that he'll get to tie them up in a lot of ways and hide his eyes behind his long bangs. Other people don't need to see him and dig and shove their nose all up in his business. Maybe once or twice Otabek dove his fingers through that blond cascade, smiling and playing with it. But it's _not_ like Yuri let his hair become that long just for him. Fuck that.   
Yuri's eyes didn't change. Actually, they're the only thing that didn't change outwardly, while inside he's still pretty much the same. They sparkle with a life that bursts constantly, they aim at the next goal, and his goal now is hop on that thing and let himself get kidnapped to get who knows where along the coast. 

The streets immediately appear congested, filled with noise and cars filling them up in loud queues and excitement buzzing in the air - it's just thirty to midnight and of course, those who still haven't reached their destination will crowd the lanes while honking continuously, but luckily Otabek seems to find a secondary road almost right away, one that gradually leads them away from the parties and noises and indiscrete eyes, away from all that excitement that will last for just a few seconds before dissipating, before the music will fade and people's lives will go back to normal.  
The music that was attacking Yuri's ears is far away from him now, and the only sound in his ears is that of the motor roaring as it eats kilometers, and the fresh European winter wind that bares its claws at him - but compared to the Russian weather this is just a soft loving pat.   
Otabek does not seem to have a precise destination in mind and he doesn't even seem to mind- he just looks ahead, shooting along the road that slowly gets narrower and turns into a provincial one, while the nightclubs become scarce and the houses look empty. Everyone is out, somewhere else, except for maybe some old people gathered in small town bars or groups of wasted teens taking a stroll and being up to no good. This is mundane, this is _pleasant_. Yuri's arms hold on tight around Otabek's sides, and he closes his eyes leaning against him to hide the little smile of comfort against the other's leather jacket.   
There's nothing to say about the town, nothing to remember - there's only the sound of this engine rushing them away from the rest and roaring like Yuri's heart. 

As time goes by, Otabek checks his watch multiple times, and at the umpteenth time he glances back at Yuri before slowing down once they're somewhere by the pier. Yuri mutters softly - hanging tight to Otabek's body and the wind were lulling him into a pleasant daze pre-sleep, and once they stop he pouts. But Otabek's dark eyes and his hand outstretched to help him off - as if he was a princess, yet this is one of those things Yuri will let him off the hook for without getting the shit kicked out of him - they convince him to get off the motorbike.   
"You wanted to go away from the party, but there's nobody here," he stresses, looking around. The light is dim - there are few light poles and they're far in between, their light doesn't even reach the sea - but there's enough of it to see Otabek take his helmet off and then take off Yuri's too, before tilting his head slightly to kiss the other, first sweetly, but then impatience.   
"I felt like being alone with you, Yura," Otabek replies, with his hands holding one of Yuri's.   
Now, it's actually not that bad that there's little lighting, seen the color Yuri's cheeks flush with almost immediately. Otabek has this gift of being able to say romantic things without any embarrassment, with a tone that makes him sound like he popped up from a movie. And Yuri is the opposite of all of that, yet his heart skips in his chest and warmth spreads down his throat, down his bowels - a sensation he learnt to appreciate with time.   
"Alright but it just took going to a park or something like that," he replies, fixing his hair before his eyes. Otabek shrugs, and finally it seems some pink reached his cheeks as well.   
"That'd be too public."

Yuri's brows knit, he looks around blinking surprised as his expression crumples up further, and then it outstretches, with his eyes opening wide and red intensifying on his face.  
"Beka, do you really wanna do it here in the open?!" He spits, clenching his fingers inside of Otabek's hand.   
There's a silence that lasts a few seconds, and confirms Yuri's long-lived suspicion that Otabek is completely out of his mind like everyone else they know.   
But he does not complain when Otabek leads him to a long, knee-high wall that hugs the coast, with a slightly taller hedge separating the beach from the road. Once Otabek finds a spot almost completely in the dark, where he's sure nobody will see them, he sits and pulls Yuri towards him, making him sit too.   
It's not like Yuri's nervous about sex, or that he's that shocked about Otabek's idea (they did it in public bathrooms, in the car, in other people's houses, and yes, even on beaches). It's just... the night took a direction he did not foresee. He thought maybe they'd just speed around the streets until morning, or get somewhere and take a stroll, or just lie on the beach looking up to the stars, or go to some café and be cozy there in front of something warm. Sex on the beach had been an idea, sure, but a wild guess too.   
"Beka, really, I mean, I wanted to get away from there and go somewhere else, but we could've gotten to a hotel somewhere if that's what you wanted..."   
"I wasn't sure you would be there and you need to make a reservation for that, and if you weren't going to be there it would've been that much more disappointing so I thought we could crash somewhere but I don't know anyone here," Otabek replies, readily, as if he'd debated internally about this for the entire six months that separated them. "Plus, it's kind of romantic."   
Yuri blinks, a bit surprised, but then his cheeks flush again.   
"Alright, but you drove for like an hour just to get us here?" He asks.  
"Yeah."   
Weirdly enough, Yuri has no objections, and by the way this thing about Otabek being disarmingly honest should piss him off, but for the moment he just sits there, playing with his hair and pushing them behind his ear. 

That's another surprise when Otabek takes his hand all of a sudden to kiss its back and then Yuri's lips, with breaths rushing right away - as soon as their mouths open to allow to become acquainted with each other again after months - and his hands find their place on Yuri's sides immediately, and between their mouths a small moan of surprise and excitement gets lost while Yuri flushes more while relaxing. At the same time, all of his thoughts about how weird this guy is, they fade as his head becomes light, and the cold he was just starting to sense melts away when all of his body reacts with heat pulsating in his chest only to pool down low.   
They haven't seen one another in too long, they haven't been together and in private for too much time, they haven't been able to kiss and hold onto each other and Yuri has missed Otabek, has had the urgency to be with him violently, hasn't felt Otabek inside of him for too long so now that the chance is there his hunger flares, like when one's been hungry for a while and _plov_  is finally placed in front of them after days and days of training and food that doesn't taste like home. It bites harder, impatient. 

"Beka," he growls, and straddles Otabek's thighs at once to set the pace, to feel the bigger hands hold his waist, and to roll it down into the other's while lifting his hood again on his head while blushing even more, but now it's out of excitement. He bites on Otabek's lip, and starts breathing fast, in a haste, like when he's training for quads. His fingers pull open his boyfriend's leather jacket to rip it open, and then slide under his shirt - clean and simple cut, no fluff, no decorations - to touch his stomach and sides. His hands are cold, and Otabek shivers just a little, Yuri feels it and smirks whispering, "don't worry, they'll warm up."  
Otabek lets him touch, responds to his kisses, treads with his fingers along Yuri's sides and glides on them. He lifts his eyes, gazing with a dark, famished look into Yuri's clear ones. And the latter blow wide, Yuri's tongue relaxes allowing Otabek's to invade his mouth, to taste him and become familiar with it again, to eat his soft moans.   
Then Otabek's fingers tighten around his waist, sink into them, and pull Yuri close, and the cold doesn't exist anymore around them as their waists move faster looking for friction until with a frustrated sigh Yuri climbs down Otabek's lap just to lie down on the cold rock surface. But he only feels the chill of it for a moment, before his senses all focus on Otabek and him alone, on his weigh pressing down against his own body, with his mouth nibbling at Yuri's lips- and then his hand, making room between their body to untie Yuri's belt.   
The realization of what's next bursts in a groan between their mouths and Yuri does not hesitate one second before helping Otabek with getting rid of his skin tight yellow pants, and then his boxers. If Otabek had time or care, he'd comment on the tiger stripes printed on them, but of course, he's got none. Because cold is making Yuri shiver a little again, now, so Otabek's hand wraps around him and his lips press down on Yuri's lips, neck, cheek. It whisks away the chills once more, replacing them with heat in his loins.  
Yuri's waist moves slow, but restless, while Otabek lowers his own jeans, but he stops when Otabek asks, "do you have a condom?"  
The question makes Yuri's head float in a daze for a moment while he crushes down on earth again, and he blinks before shaking his head because no, indeed he couldn't have known the night would have ended like this. Although he should have packed something, considering he was going to see his boyfriend after months, but hey, he was too busy muttering about having to go to a _goddamn party with people and noise and shitty French food and those two corny idiots_.   
Otabek stares at him for a few seconds, debating, before eventually lowering his lips down between Yuri's thighs to wrap his lips around the other's cock.  
"Beka," he breathes out, with a new upsurge of pleasure shooting across his body, and his hips move on their own jolting into Otabek's mouth, while his own only let out lewd but muffled cries as he had the readiness to cover his mouth with a hand. The other shoots down and its fingers grab at Otabek's hair, push his head down and he just takes it all until he gets to the base and Yuri gasps for breath before it all goes away, in the moment Otabek emerges.  
"Beka...?" Yuri's voice trembles.  
However he doesn't manage uttering anything else as Otabek's lips attack him again, his tongue invades him again, and his body senses a bit of fresh but it all disappears yet again when the elder grabs his sex, aligns his own with Yuri's, and holds them together as they slide, slowly to get used to the pace.   
With his eyes closed Yuri clenches his teeth as well, and yet moans still leave his mouth; he tries swallowing them back, but they burst out again and out of him.   
"Yura, are you okay?"   
Otabek kisses his cheek, softly, with his hand holding their dicks tight together and the other keeping him lifted so that his weigh doesn't crush the smaller man; his mouth roams to Yuri's cold ear. While already thrusting harder into his hand, the spit he used to ease the friction is already drying up and for a moment Yuri curses himself for not having brought over condoms, lube, plugs, dildos, whatever would make this easier. But he was too busy grumbling about Viktor to think of that.   
And it doesn't really matter, when Otabek's lips suck on the lobe of his ear and sucks, sucks, bites encouraged by Yuri's sighs and moans becoming louder as control slides from their fingers. Until finally Yuri comes with warm drops spilling on the cold rock surface and his expression is enough to push Otabek over the edge as well, spilling warm on Yuri's tee, and it would make him nervous if any of them had any fucks to give, about anything, at all.  
That's all he needs. He's satisfied with satisfaction on his Yura's face. He looks down at it, at his melted, glistening eyes and his rosy cheeks.  
Yuri's eyes flutter, and droop while a comfortable buzz spreads in waves from his brain, taming all thoughts for a bit while his lungs push air out in quick puffs until his whole body finally relaxes against the gelid surface he lies on.   
"I missed this," he lets out in a light whisper, and realizes his mistake a little too late. It's okay, though. Otabek just hums, nodding, before kissing his lips.   
"Yeah, me too."

Once they're dressed again and clean (more or less, but the cum stain can be concealed once they're back) they share some silence while looking at the sea waves foaming and licking the shore, but after a few minutes the silence explodes with tens of fireworks that light up their sky, their faces, with lots of vivid colors, and even though at first they both jump with surprise while sitting on the small wall, Yuri bursts with laughter under his warm hood.  
"I'd forgotten about all of that."  
Otabek smirks, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  
"Me too. Happy new year, Yura."  
It really could be.  
The cold wind lifted a little, and it sure isn't enough to really bother him, but Yuri seems to think it's a perfect excuse to wrap Otabek tighter around him.   
"Happy new year, Beka." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the one I had the most fun with! I have no idea what Cannes and its outskirts are like, but I had to fill a prompt about them escaping in the night on a motorbike and somehow I thought the cheesiest thing to do would be the beach so Barcelona was not exactly the best place to set this at, and I was like "nah Italy is too banal for me" since I'm Italian so like yeah I was like "well let's go with Cannes". 
> 
> Also, I used some romanized Russian words (dedushka = grandpa), specifically food names, I hope they're correct! Here's what they are:
> 
>  **New year's Eve's foods** (at least I think that's what Russian people will probably eat at New Year's Eve, according to an article I found anyway, and if this is incorrect I apologize! I've never been to Russia orz) 
> 
> Russian salad - also called Olivier salad, it's like, vegetables cut in little cubes with salt and pepper and mustard all mixed up with mayonnaise and tbh it's good stuff (I mean I only ever ate the shitty italian industrial version but I like it so I bet I'd love the original recipe!)  
> Manti - dumplings, as far as I understand they're a bit like gyoza/jiaozi but I'm probably mistaken...  
> Chak chak - Tatar sweet, I still don't understand how it's made but anyway [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%87%C3%A4k%C3%A7%C3%A4k)'s the wiki page ;_;  
> Plov - rice dish from Uzbekistan with lamb. 
> 
> I love food. I wanna try everything I read about while hunting for recipes for this fic.


End file.
